


Tethered

by Kantayra



Series: Atobe/Tezuka Future 'Verse [2]
Category: Tennis no Oujisama | Prince of Tennis
Genre: Birthday, Fluff, Future Fic, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Mention of Homophobic Parents, Wedding Night
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-13
Updated: 2016-10-26
Packaged: 2018-08-22 03:38:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8271220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kantayra/pseuds/Kantayra
Summary: The week of their 21st birthdays, Atobe and Tezuka finally decide to tie the knot.





	1. October 4th

Tezuka awoke at 5AM sharp, the same way he did every morning, without the need for an alarm. At this time of year, it was still dark this early, but the red glow from the LED alarm clock on the far side of the bed, combined with the ambient light from the streetlights outside, provided enough illumination for him to distinguish the outline of the living furnace beside him in bed.

Said living furnace was apparently under the delusion that they were two spoons in the same drawer, and Tezuka spent some time unwrapping the limbs around him until he could finally slip out of bed unencumbered.

Tezuka found his glasses in the dark and put them on, even though there was hardly any point this early. Then, with a yawn, he pulled out one of the twin exercise mats they kept stored under the bed and started in on his morning stretches. His back was tight this morning, undoubtedly due to being detained by an overly amorous cephalopod for half the night.

Slowly, his limbs limbered up, and the aches from the previous day's practice faded. Muscles adequately warmed, he began his morning strength regimen: 100 push-ups, 100 sit-ups, and 100 squats today. He tried to be as quiet as possible, and it seemed he'd succeeded because, other than resettling slightly against Tezuka's still-warm pillow, Atobe didn't stir.

Tezuka smiled to himself on sit-up 45 at the thought that he'd get to tease Atobe for being lazy this morning. Atobe always looked especially appealing flushed with righteous indignation.

Tezuka finished his routine without incident and headed to the bathroom for his morning ablutions, his body finally feeling _alive_ again after the stiffness of sleep. He shut the door behind him, found the light-switch on the first try entirely by memory, and blinked in annoyance at the mirror when blinding light blazed down on his heretofore-tranquil morning.

Tezuka set his glasses on one precarious corner of the sink that hadn't yet been inundated by Atobe's seemingly endless collection of bath and beauty supplies. Tezuka still, for the life of him, couldn't imagine why Atobe needed three different varieties of the same moisturizer, and frankly, he was afraid to ask.

After Tezuka washed his face (with normal soap that Atobe's assemblage had, with utmost contempt, nearly shoved over the edge of the sink and into the trash), the overhead lights didn't seem so glaringly bright anymore. Tezuka brushed his teeth and then mostly failed to brush his hair into some kind of order, all with an ear to the bedroom next door, but there was no sound from without.

Finally satisfied that he was as non-disheveled (cheveled?) as he was going to get for the day, he switched the light back off, opened the door, and groped around in the dark for the edge of his dresser. His hand collided with several bottles of Atobe's exfoliant that had participated in the massive herd migration over to Tezuka's side of the room last week, and that Tezuka hadn't quite gotten around to banishing yet, via the usual means of gathering everything up and dumping it on Atobe's side of the bed some morning.

Any other day, Tezuka might have been tempted to do that now, since Atobe let out a particularly obnoxious snort from the bed just then and rolled over onto his back, as he frequently did shortly before waking. However, today was today, so Tezuka let Atobe finish his sleep in peace and ignored the bottle of whatever that rolled off his dresser onto the floor. Atobe could hunt it down later, if he could even determine that it was missing.

Tezuka fumbled in his drawers, found a set of sweats, and proceeded to dress in the dark exactly the way Atobe often accused him of doing. The drawer stuck and then made a loud bang when Tezuka closed it, and Tezuka looked back over his shoulder toward the bed, but Atobe still slept soundly.

Tezuka padded on bare feet out into the kitchen. The big east-facing bay windows in the living area were still dark, but Tezuka didn't want another blinding light on, so he found and filled the kettle in the dark. While the water boiled, he leaned forward against the kitchen island and looked out over the city below.

Their penthouse overlooked the park and the tennis facilities across the way. Tezuka could make out the trees and buildings against the streetlights, but there wasn't enough light that he could see the colors of the leaves. Still, it was a peaceful scene, and Tezuka let it draw his mind in, contemplating the start of a new day.

When the kettle was ready, Tezuka brought all the tea paraphernalia over to the coffee table in the living area and arranged it all neatly so that he could sit on the sofa that overlooked the park and drink his tea in comfort.

He curled up under one of the throw-blankets, because the autumn was becoming nippy in the mornings, and almost missed the sweltering heat that Atobe omitted on a nightly basis. Atobe was, most definitely, a winter bedmate (although, of course, Tezuka tolerated his molten embrace throughout the rest of the year with equanimity...and the occasional thrown pillow).

As Tezuka sipped his tea, the sky gradually lightened, not quite dawn yet but starting to think about being so. He still had some time before Atobe usually rose, so he turned on his laptop, which was sitting on one of the end-tables, and worked on his history essay that he'd begun last night. In his sleep, he'd worked through the rest of his thoughts, so now it was mostly just a matter of writing them down. He was just polishing his conclusion, when he was surprised to hear the water running in the bathroom.

He looked up to see that the sky had brightened considerably; more time had passed than he'd realized, caught up in his homework.

Tezuka finished his essay, smiling to himself at the ridiculous gargling sound coming from the bathroom. He checked the teapot and put on another kettle when Atobe's very loud singing began. The universe was never left in doubt when the cacophony that was Atobe Keigo finally awoke once more.

The light flicked on in the bedroom, and the white rectangle created by the open door stretched across the floor into the kitchen. Tezuka retrieved the newly heated water and returned to his place on the sofa, while Atobe's rhythmic grunts, interspersed with the occasional half-aspired number, sounded from the bedroom. It sounded like Atobe was on one of his burpee days; Tezuka winced in sympathy.

Tezuka returned to proof-reading his essay while the grunts finally tapered off, and rustling sounds replaced them. Atobe was buried deep in his closet, then, and might not emerge for hours.

Tezuka had almost lost track of time again when he sensed footsteps approaching and looked up just in time for Atobe's hand to cup his jaw and pull him in for a quick morning kiss. Tezuka shut his eyes for just one second and savored the press of Atobe's lips.

Then Atobe pulled back, and Tezuka opened his eyes, and he could see that the sun was just about to rise.

"Good morning," Atobe said with a satisfied smile as he curled up beside Tezuka on the sofa, inflicting his human inferno upon Tezuka once more. "You taste like chamomile."

"Good morning." Tezuka slipped an arm around Atobe's shoulders, holding him close. "You taste like mint toothpaste."

Atobe's cheek rested on Tezuka's shoulder, and he followed along with Tezuka, who was still proof-reading his essay. "Did you make me tea, too?"

"Of course," Tezuka agreed, pouring a cup for Atobe with his free hand. Atobe took it with a small, grateful smile. Tezuka leaned in to give him another quick peck on the lips. "Happy birthday," he said when he pulled away.

"Please tell me you didn't get me tea for my birthday," Atobe teased, taking a sip, "lovely as it is. Oh, and that transition is absolutely atrocious. Rewrite it." He reached out with one bare foot, and his big toe tapped the screen over one of the paragraphs.

Tezuka frowned but conceded that the sentence was one of the weak points in his writing and promptly deleted it. "You'll get the same thing for your birthday that you get every year," Tezuka assured him. "Tonight." He rewrote the section, delineating the thought process more completely this time.

Atobe watched him type and finally conceded, "That's better." And then on to the more important point: "You, any way I want you?" he whispered huskily right against Tezuka's ear before nipping at it playfully.

A shudder wracked Tezuka's body at the thought. "Any way you want me," Tezuka agreed. Finally satisfied with his essay, Tezuka submitted it to his tutor and then snapped the laptop shut. He set the rest of his homework aside to focus on the much more interesting matter of the man in his arms.

"Oh Tezuka, my beloved," Atobe murmured against Tezuka's cheek, "I still don't think you can fully appreciate all the ways I want you."

Tezuka turned to face him, so that their lips just brushed. "I fully appreciate them," he corrected. And then, lower, in that voice that he knew rumbled straight to Atobe's groin, "I appreciate them very, _very_ eagerly."

They kissed then - because how could they not? - as the sun rose in front of them and the city stretched out beneath them.

After an extended interlude, Atobe returned to his tea, and the two of them turned to watch the sunrise properly. "What's your training schedule like today?" Atobe asked lightly.

"5k soon-ish," Tezuka checked the time, "then free practice this morning, and afternoon free."

Atobe nodded. Their coaches always gave them their own birthdays off and then some additional free time on each other's birthdays, which always meant that this week in October gave them one of their most significant breaks of the year. "Want to play me for one-set for your free practice?" Atobe asked with a sharp grin.

Tezuka laughed. "I did say _any_ way you wanted me, although I didn't think you'd pick tennis."

"And you've known me for _how_ long?" Atobe retorted.

"15-Love," Tezuka agreed. "Want to go running with me, too?"

"Absolutely." Atobe was nibbling at Tezuka's earlobe again. "I want to beat you in every way imaginable today."

Tezuka snorted. "I'm not going to let you win just because it's your birthday."

"Good," Atobe hummed into Tezuka's neck. "I want you feisty and prickly and indomitable."

"So that you can dominate me?" Tezuka teased.

"Ah, but do I ever truly dominate you?" Atobe countered. "Just as you can never dominate me."

"Which is just the way you like it, of course," Tezuka agreed and sipped his tea.

"As equals," Atobe confirmed, sipping his own tea.

The first rays of the sun were catching the treetops now, setting the red and yellow leaves alight in the crisp morning air.

Tezuka took a deep breath and watched the sun and the leaves and felt the warmth of the cup in his hand and Atobe within the curve of his arm, and he thought not for the first time that he wished every day of his life could be the same as this one. He had never thought he would be the type to become this inseparably tied to another person, but Atobe was different from everyone else Tezuka had ever met, a perfect match in mind, body, soul, skill, and spirit.

Tezuka felt himself uniquely grateful for this day, without which the most important person in his life would never have existed. He couldn't imagine a life without Atobe now, his bed partner, training partner, and life partner.

So, as the red disk of sun burst over the horizon, bathing the world in orange, Tezuka asked the question that came naturally to his mind: "Would you ever think of marrying me?"

"Sure," Atobe agreed with a groggy yawn, "where do you want to go? Amsterdam? Barcelona?"

Tezuka blinked in surprise at the casual acquiescence of Atobe's response. "I didn't mean right now, necessarily. I just meant...in principle. As opposed to..."

"Accepting an arranged marriage with some boring rich girl, just to keep up appearances?" Atobe gave Tezuka an incredulous look. "Honestly, Kunimitsu, you know me better than that. Having had you, do you honestly believe any power on earth could make me take anyone else?"

Tezuka bit his lip at the use of his given name. Those only came out when one of them was being very, very serious. "You never were one to compromise," he finally conceded.

"No," Atobe agreed. "It's you for me, or nothing."

Tezuka smiled and rested his head against Atobe's. "I couldn't possibly leave you with nothing on your birthday."

A pause, and then, "So, I'm confused. Did you just propose to me, and did I just accept?"

Tezuka laughed. "Probably," he agreed.

"Mmm," Atobe sounded almost orgasmic at the thought, "nothing's ever easy with you, is it?"

"We could probably fly to Amsterdam and back this weekend," Tezuka said thoughtfully. "Can you have your family's lawyers draw up a prenup by then?"

"Seriously?" Atobe blinked at him in disbelief. "You want a prenup?"

Tezuka leaned in close and looked up at him with sultry eyes. "I want you and you alone. I will not tolerate any strings."

Atobe laughed shakily. "You impossible, wonderful man..."

"Also, I'm picking out my own ring. I dread to think what you'd go for."

"Then I'm making the same stipulation," Atobe agreed so quickly it was almost insulting.

Tezuka sighed. "I'm going to be late for morning practice if I don't head out soon."

"Then, let's go." Atobe threw back his head and drained the rest of his teacup. "And, afterward, I'll make you some of that lovely swill our coaches have us on, for breakfast."

Tezuka grimaced at the blender and the olive-green vegetable drink it regularly produced. "I'll race you," Tezuka agreed.

"I wouldn't have it any other way," Atobe said, like he meant it.


	2. October 7th

Atobe awoke to the feeling of warm, slick fingers working him open. The skillful digits thrust in and out smoothly and confidently, a little deeper each time, brushing the pleasure point inside him on each pass.

There was nothing to do but give in to such sweet torment.

“Mrmg,” Atobe mumbled into his pillow because he still wasn’t fully awake, and even if he had been, the fingers left him just then, and a long, sleek body pressed up against his back, holding him in place for the erection that now teased his entrance.

“Good morning,” Tezuka chuckled against the back of his neck, sounding even more insufferably smug than he usually did when Atobe spread his thighs for him.

And then, because Tezuka wasn’t the sort to be subtle about what he wanted (any more than Atobe was), he pushed inside Atobe’s body with one long, slow stroke.

Atobe groaned and raised one knee higher to give Tezuka a better angle, and Tezuka’s second stroke buried him balls-deep inside Atobe with a pleased grunt.

“I see someone found his birthday present early this morning,” Atobe sighed contentedly when Tezuka began moving gently but firmly within him. “Happy birthday.”

“Thank you,” Tezuka said conversationally, his pace languid enough to allow conversation still, “it’s exactly what I wanted. How did you ever know?”

Atobe laughed and then gasped when Tezuka thrust in _hard_ on the next stroke, striking Atobe’s sweet spot with the same precision Tezuka did everything. Conversation deteriorated rapidly at that point, beyond Atobe’s moans and the sharp intakes of breath that were one of the few sounds Tezuka allowed himself during sex.

Atobe felt the tension mounting in his body, but his erection was trapped awkwardly under him at this angle, and Tezuka seemed to echo his frustration with a muffled sigh against the nape of Atobe’s neck.

“Another angle?” Tezuka suggested practically.

“Mmm,” Atobe agreed and then let out a sharp exclamation when Tezuka pulled him back and up, so that Tezuka sat upright on the bed, Atobe now straddling his waist and leaning back against his chest, Tezuka’s erection still firmly inside him.

“Ride me,” Tezuka rumbled against Atobe’s ear from behind, and his hand finally closed around Atobe’s cock for a much-appreciated reach-around.

Atobe’s whole body shuddered, which caused Tezuka to hiss at the vibrations, and then slowly – guided by Tezuka’s steady hand on one hip – Atobe began to slide up and down, pleasuring himself on Tezuka’s cock.

“I, ah, would’ve let you sleep, but you were _all over_ me when I woke up, and you looked too tempting to leave unmolested,” Tezuka said, sounding actually somewhat contrite, which was one of his more endearing characteristics.

“Darling,” Atobe corrected, “apologize to me for all the mornings you _don’t_ wake me up like this, instead.” And he thrust down hard, impaling himself sharp and fast.

A little grunt escaped Tezuka’s throat, and his hand faltered on Atobe’s erection for one moment, before returning with renewed vigor. Atobe picked up the pace in turn, and they both began to lose the rhythm as pleasure overtook them.

Tezuka came first with a ragged breath right against Atobe’s shoulder, and the flood of his seed into Atobe’s body set Atobe off in response, the way it always did.

They clung together in the aftermath, Atobe still clutched in Tezuka’s lap, their bodies sticky, sweaty, and sated.

And then finally, Tezuka released Atobe slowly, so that Atobe slumped forward, sliding off Tezuka’s softening flesh and back onto his stomach in the center of their bed.

“Try to get some more sleep before your alarm goes off,” Tezuka suggested unrealistically, and gave Atobe a quick peck right between his shoulder-blades.

“How long is that?” Atobe groaned, face buried in his pillow.

“17 minutes,” Tezuka said in that somewhat wispy voice that meant he was trying very hard not to laugh aloud.

Atobe glared, grabbed Tezuka’s pillow from beside him, and flung it wildly back at Tezuka’s head. “Fuck you, Tezuka,” he mock-complained.

“I’m reasonably certain it was the other way around,” Tezuka was actively snickering now.

Atobe closed his eyes for one second, felt the sticky wetness of Tezuka’s come dribbling out of his ass, and concluded that, even if he’d still had hours, he certainly wasn’t going to be able to sleep _now_.

“Someday, I’m going to tell the whole world what a pervert you really are,” Atobe insisted, pushing himself up off the bed. He glanced over at where Tezuka was still sitting at the end of the bed and saw Tezuka wet his lips at the movement of the muscles in Atobe’s forearms. Atobe couldn’t help but smirk; it was nice to have someone around who properly worshiped his body’s perfection.

“You already have,” Tezuka reminded him. “Multiple times. No one believed you.” It almost made Atobe miss the days when he could render Tezuka incoherent with lust. But, as flattering as that had been at first, a coherent Tezuka was always a hundred times more delicious.

Atobe stuck his nose up in the air in response and sauntered over to the bathroom elegantly, which was quite a feat at the moment since his legs felt like jelly and his opening felt tender and messy.

He turned on the shower as far toward hot as it would go and brushed his teeth while he waited for the bathroom to properly steam up. After the third time he’d had to wipe a clear patch into the mirror, he finally deemed the water hot enough and stepped under the spray. Usually, he’d sing the most obnoxiously catchy pop song on the charts but, after all, today’s was Tezuka’s birthday, so instead he settled for belting out opera at the top of his lungs instead, while he soaped himself down.

He’d just gotten through the Prelude from Act 3 of Wagner’s _Lohengrin_ when his back-up loofah went sailing over the shower door. He caught it before it could hit him in the head.

“You’re not funny,” Tezuka said from the bathroom doorway, obviously biting his cheek quite hard in an effort not to laugh.

“Are you saying you don’t want the Bridal Chorus at our wedding?” Atobe retorted, making use of the perfectly good loofah to scrub away the excessive lube Tezuka always felt the need to use.

“We are _not_ having a ‘wedding’,” Tezuka insisted sternly.

“I’ll grant you the wedding, but I’m not budging on the honeymoon,” Atobe conceded graciously.

Tezuka grunted. “I’m making tea,” he said noncommittally, which caused Atobe to freeze because he’d honestly thought Tezuka had _already_ made tea, and that was the inspiration for this morning’s festivities.

There was a pause in which Atobe counted to thirteen before Tezuka came bursting back into the bedroom, threw open the shower door, and pinned Atobe firmly against the marble wall in a toe-curling kiss. Atobe absorbed the impact of Tezuka’s lips and tongue, soothing him down into a languid union of lips.

When Tezuka finally pulled away, water was beaded all over his glasses, and his morning running clothes were soaked through. “You actually got me a prenup,” Tezuka said, sounding a little bit lost.

“In four separate languages, for seven different countries’ legal systems, some of which don’t even acknowledge same-sex marriages in the first place,” Atobe agreed. “If you ever decide to divorce me, you’ll end up a complete pauper. Well, except for all your tournament winnings.”

Tezuka just blinked at him slowly, in what everyone else called his poker face. Atobe was infinitely grateful for that poker face, though, because it was what had allowed Tezuka to remain so wholly unencumbered before Atobe was able to come along and snatch him up.

To every other person on the planet, Tezuka really was the worst lover ever. One had to be a mind-reader to know what he thought or wanted, which was a deal-breaker for almost everyone but Atobe, who had never found much challenge at all in deciphering Tezuka’s moods.

And right now, despite what anyone who didn’t know Tezuka might think, Tezuka was clearly overwhelmed with emotion and adoration, to the point where he’d been rendered insensate. Although even Atobe had to concede that the only change in Tezuka’s expression was a slight loosening around the edges of his mouth. Tezuka’s eyes, though… Atobe could write epic romances about the devotion in Tezuka’s eyes.

After an extended pause, Tezuka finally said pensively, “I think I’m going to have you again now,” and proceeded to lift Atobe up against the wall, so that Atobe had no choice but to wrap his legs around Tezuka’s waist and hold on tight.

Thankfully, Atobe was still mostly slicked up inside, and Tezuka was able to pull down his waistband and slide in smoothly. Atobe had no leverage whatsoever against the wet wall, which had been a fetish of Tezuka’s the last month or so: positions where one of them had no choice but to remain passive. Atobe did so now, relishing the pleasure Tezuka bestowed upon him. Tezuka’s thrusts were sharp and quick this time, shallower than before, but pushing them to a more abrupt climax.

After the last of the shudders wracked through Atobe’s body, Tezuka slowly released him until Atobe slid bonelessly back down to marble floor.

“You do realize,” Atobe finally said, leaning forward limply against Tezuka’s chest, “that I have footwork drills all morning.”

“Do you?” Tezuka’s voice was rich with amusement.

“Our coaches are going to make me do _squats_. I can barely stand,” Atobe complained half-heartedly.

“How careless of me,” Tezuka teased. “I didn’t even give you time to stretch beforehand.”

Atobe glared at him, but didn’t object at all when Tezuka finally stripped out of his wet clothes and washed them both down. Tezuka even deigned to use Atobe’s favorite loofah, belying Tezuka’s infuriating insistence that he couldn’t tell it apart from all the others.

Atobe’s knees were steady again by the time Tezuka finally shut off the water, although he still grimaced at the thought of squats; there was a reason their extracurricular escapades were usually postponed until after the day’s practice, to give them both maximum time to recover.

Tezuka handed Atobe the fluffiest towel from the stack beside the shower and headed out back into their bedroom, leaving Atobe to dry himself and primp for the morning.

Atobe did so to the best of his ability, humming under his breath as he sought out his lotions and bath oils for today, now scattered haphazardly about the bathroom after Tezuka’s latest attempt to ‘organize’ them by moving everything Atobe needed on any given day to the farthest corners of the room from each other.

Atobe finally managed to collect everything, beautify himself, and slunk back out of the bathroom completely naked to find Tezuka lying on his stomach on the bed in one of Atobe’s spare robes, reading over the impressive stack of legal papers that Atobe had left by the tea last night before he’d gone to bed.

“Am I perfect, or am I not?” Atobe purred, crawling up the bed to wrap around Tezuka’s back and read over his shoulder. Tezuka was currently poring over the Japanese version of their legal entrenchment.

Tezuka snorted in response and flipped the page. “These are all very thorough. I’m impressed.”

“You can’t seriously be worried that, at this point, I’d still think you were marrying me for my money,” Atobe danced around the issue, the way one always had to with Tezuka before anything like genuine emotion finally slipped out.

“Proof is better than words,” Tezuka insisted, and set aside the Japanese version before moving on to the English.

Atobe took the document from him and studied it too, lest anyone think he was marrying Tezuka for _his_ money in turn.

Tezuka paused for one moment and then said, almost sheepishly, “I… You know?”

It was one of those mind-reading Tezuka moments. Atobe felt a sudden pang at how alone Tezuka must have felt before him. It wasn’t necessarily that Tezuka shunned human contact, but he was so naturally reticent and so driven that he pursued his goals relentlessly, no matter that all relationships fell by the wayside. It took someone especially thick-skinned and persistent to stick by Tezuka, ignoring Tezuka’s seeming indifference.

“I know,” Atobe assured him, tousling Tezuka’s hair affectionately. “I love you, too.”

Tezuka relaxed with a little sigh of appreciation at being _understood_.

Atobe kissed the top of his head and then lightened things up, before Tezuka could turn tense again. “You realize, of course, that this means I had to tell Mira that we were getting married, so that she could have all the documents drawn up and bully and bribe her way through the red tape on such short notice.” Mira was Atobe’s mother’s wealth manager and had thoroughly vetted Tezuka and greenlit their partnership years ago. She’d been by far the lesser evil than contacting Uehara, Atobe’s _father’s_ wealth manager, who lurked menacingly in the shadows and was currently involved in some elaborate chess game that consisted of buying up all the properties around their condo for some nefarious purpose that Atobe still hadn’t fully figured out.

Tezuka froze for a moment. “That means your mother knows,” he concluded.

“She does,” Atobe agreed. “She wants to come to the wedding.”

“ _No weddings_ ,” Tezuka hissed.

“Fine. Then, she wants to be one of our witnesses at the registry office.”

Tezuka groaned. “Does your father know yet?”

“My father knows everything,” Atobe insisted. “Surely, you know that by now.”

“And?”

“He informs me that it is very fashionable these days in business circles in the west to have a young gay relative in a stable same-sex relationship. It demonstrates that one is socially inclusive and open-minded while still allowing one to be properly fiscally conservative.”

“But…you’re not gay,” Tezuka pointed out.

Atobe laughed, because of course Tezuka would object to the semantics. “Tezuka, these are men who see the world in black-and-white from the heights of power. I have already taken it up the ass from you twice this morning. To them, that equals gay. Sexual fluidity need not apply.”

Tezuka grunted in deep offense at the technical inaccuracy, so that Atobe had no choice but to plant a series of soft kisses up the back of his neck.

“Besides,” Atobe pointed out against Tezuka’s heated flesh, “I haven’t had a woman since I was 14, and I’ll not have one again for the rest of my life. That makes me gay enough, hmm?”

“Hmm,” Tezuka conceded, his head dipping forward to allow Atobe better access.

Atobe soothed Tezuka, urging him to relax fully, before he cautiously asked, “Are you going to tell your parents?”

Tezuka’s shoulders instantly tensed. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“That’s fine,” Atobe assured him, kissing his way down Tezuka’s spine, lulling him back down into a state of calm.

It said a lot about Tezuka’s trust in him that Tezuka was able to relax again. “We might want to tell our coaches,” he considered thoughtfully. “Maybe.”

Aside from each other, the people the two of them spent by far the most time with were their coaches. It was such a _Tezuka_ thing to let them in so reluctantly that Atobe suddenly had to flip him over and kiss him. By contrast, Tezuka let Atobe in quite easily, eagerly even.

Their kiss deepened, softened, and then parted.

Atobe studied Tezuka’s eyes thoughtfully from a few inches away, looking as deep as Tezuka would let him go, which was all the way down into the core of Tezuka’s being. “This is my favorite day of the year,” Atobe finally confessed.

“Not your own birthday?” Tezuka asked skeptically.

“My own birthday is one of the worst days of the year,” Atobe shook his head. “It marks the beginning of the three most miserable days of my life, when I once was forced to suffer in this world without you.”

Tezuka’s cheeks flushed at the compliment, and it was quite satisfying to Atobe’s ego that he could still make Tezuka blush like that on occasion, even after all these years.

“I doubt you noticed when you were a baby,” Tezuka said seriously.

“No,” Atobe assured him with one final peck on the lips before he rose to begin his day (complete with squats, oh joy), “I really, _really_ did.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those not up on their German opera, the Bridal Chorus from Wagner’s _Lohengrin_ , which immediately follows the Prelude Atobe is singing, is the piece of music everyone knows as 'Here Comes the Bride'. Because, yes, Atobe is a snarky bastard like that. ;P


	3. October 10th

Tezuka poured Atobe into his seat on the jet at 5:10 AM and strapped him in securely. Atobe mumbled something incoherent and promptly went right back to sleep, which left Tezuka to sit back in his spacious seat, stretch out his legs, and wait.

The waiting was why Tezuka disliked flying.

He pulled the latest cheap romance novel from his bag (in Dutch, since that seemed only fitting) and got about halfway through a particularly sultry chapter before the Atobes’ pilot announced that they had been cleared for take-off.

Tezuka was just about to breathe a sigh of relief when suddenly the plane door burst open again, and Atobe’s mother barged in wearing a bespoke pinstripe gray power suit, with a too-short skirt, her blonde hair curling around her shoulders stylishly. She looked tall and beautiful and intimidating as always, and Tezuka had _really_ hoped that they’d be able to escape before she caught up with them.

“Kunimitsu,” she beamed at Tezuka, stalked over to him, pulled him in too close since they were almost of a height, and made kissy noises over each of his cheeks, “my flight _just_ got in from Dubai: rush, rush. How are you, darling?”

“Fine,” Tezuka said wearily.

It wasn’t that Tezuka disliked Atobe’s mother. It was just that she was far too much like her son, except while Atobe’s passions lay in tennis where Tezuka fully appreciated them, Atobe’s mother was the same way, only about business, which made Tezuka want to run very far away before she found some way to acquire, bankrupt, or hostilely take over him. Actually, Atobe’s father made him feel the same way. And every single other member of the Atobe family he’d met, to date…

“There’s my Keigo,” Atobe’s mother leaned down to rustle Atobe’s hair, which caused him to wake with a sudden start.

“Mom?” Atobe blinked at her in disbelief, which he really shouldn’t have because his mother was an implacable force of nature, and as soon as Tezuka had learned she knew about their impending marriage, he’d seen this coming a mile away. “What are you doing here?”

“Taking off.” She turned back to the cockpit. “Heinrich? Weren’t we next in line?” She snapped her fingers imperiously.

“Yes,” the pilot – Heinrich, apparently – said in a voice that creepily reminded Tezuka of someone else entirely.

She turned back to Atobe and gave him a quick peck on the cheek. “Congratulations! I’m so happy for you, honey. Don’t worry. Mira and I won’t make a peep. We wouldn’t want to bother you on your special day.” She gave his cheek one last pat, then gave _Tezuka’s_ cheek a pat too, for good measure, before she prowled back to the next compartment of the plane (which Tezuka thought was a conference room), Mira, her wealth manager, following inconspicuously on her heels.

Tezuka gave Mira a sympathetic look, which caused Mira to look baffled back at him, like she couldn’t imagine how anyone could _not_ think that Atobe’s mother was the most wonderful human being on the planet.

“ _Atobe_ ,” Tezuka complained in a strained tone once they’d both shut the conference-room door behind them.

“She said they’d leave us alone,” Atobe said sheepishly.

Tezuka sighed.

“I’m sorry,” Atobe offered, kissing Tezuka on the corner of his mouth apologetically. “She has a 1:15 in Antwerp, so she’ll just be there to witness and then gone, I promise.”

That mollified Tezuka somewhat, and he sat back comfortably as the plane taxied to the runaway, leaning to rest his cheek on Atobe’s shoulder. Atobe’s fingers trailed through his hair lightly, massaging his scalp, until Tezuka felt almost like _he_ was going to fall asleep again.

He breathed in the lingering scent of Atobe’s cologne as the plane took off and didn’t speak again until they’d levelled off.

“In a way, her being here is a good thing,” Tezuka finally said thoughtfully.

“Hmm?” Atobe said groggily. His cheek had been resting atop of Tezuka’s head, and he’d clearly nearly fallen asleep again.

“I’ve been reading,” Tezuka explained.

“Of course, you have,” Atobe agreed with a yawn.

“On the internet,” Tezuka clarified, “about what makes a successful marriage.”

“Of course, you have,” Atobe said again, but he was snickering this time.

Tezuka was forced to concede that it was very predictable of him. “The most reputable site I could find claimed that there are five key compatibility factors that are vital to a lasting partnership.”

Atobe shook his head. “Tezuka-love, where do you _find_ this nonsense?”

“I told you: On the internet, where all nonsense lives,” Tezuka said seriously.

“Apparently,” Atobe said, his voice warm with laughter. “All right, I’ll bite: What are the five factors?”

Tezuka inclined his head toward the back conference room where Atobe’s mother could be heard, through the wall, chewing someone out over the phone. “The first is how a couple deals with their respective families.”

Atobe’s eyes shifted to the side to where his mother was clearly engaged in some kind of hostile take-over. “Oh? How are we supposed to deal with our families?”

“A successful, long-lasting partnership is one in which the partners form a united team, rather than side with other relatives, when disputes arise,” Tezuka explained.

Atobe scrunched up his nose in distaste. “Who would do differently? What, would mother and I team up and badger you about your refusal to accept various sponsorships she tries to throw your way?”

“As I understand it, that’s exactly it. If you sided with her, against me, on these issues, our partnership would be in trouble.”

“Hmm,” Atobe yawned, “I suppose. But, really, that’s just common sense.”

“From what I’ve read, issues with in-laws commonly put a strain on relationships.”

Atobe snorted and curled back down to lay his head on Tezuka’s shoulder. “My family puts a strain on _everything_.”

Atobe’s mother took that opportunity to shout, “Sell it _now_ , you idiot!” in the conference room next door.

“No arguments from me,” Tezuka agreed, and Atobe shut his eyes to go back to sleep.

***

It wasn’t a long flight to Amsterdam. Tezuka prodded Atobe in the side roughly an hour later, when Heinrich announced they were beginning their descent.

“I don’t know that I buy your ‘five-factors’ argument,” Atobe said, getting up to stretch his legs before they’d have to buckle up again. “I mean, how does _your_ family fit in with that model?”

Tezuka sighed and pushed his glasses up to rub at his eyes. This was not one of his favorite topics, but Atobe had been very gingerly testing the edges of the wound the past few days, so Tezuka decided it was time to address the matter head-on.

“I got all but disowned for dating you. That certainly counts as my siding with you over them.”

“For dating me, and for other things,” Atobe corrected.

Tezuka grimaced. The one-two punch of telling his mother that he’d never marry a woman and give her grandchildren, followed by how he wasn’t ever going to stop ‘fooling around’ with tennis and get a respectable job, had probably been harsh, in retrospect. His grandfather’s funeral probably hadn’t been the best time, either. Tezuka hadn’t spoken to his mother or returned to Japan since.

Atobe understood Tezuka’s anger, of course, because a number of things Tezuka’s mother had said to them both had been entirely uncalled-for. But the complete _rage_ Tezuka felt that had melted his already tenuous connection to his family to complete disavowal… Atobe had never experienced that feeling before.

“I think what happened with my family falls more in line with the second factor, anyway,” Tezuka finally decided.

Atobe pulled one elbow back over and behind his head, stretching his shoulder, while twisting at the waist. Tezuka’s eyes instinctively looked for the flash of Atobe’s abs that were exposed when his shirt rode up. Atobe always had been hopelessly distracting when he stretched.

“What’s the second factor, then?” Atobe asked.

“A successful couple has to be able to endure tragedy together and give each other support in times of need.”

Atobe paused and bit his lip, but didn’t say anything, choosing instead to repeat his previous stretch on the other side.

“I never thanked you for tolerating…” Tezuka began and trailed off.

“It was your _grandfather’s funeral_ ,” Atobe said with a sudden flash of anger. “You had been very close to him, once. All you wanted was for me to be permitted to sit next to you as part of the family, to help you through it. How could I refuse? What you should _really_ thank me for is not punching your mother in the face for denying you something so simple.”

Tezuka didn’t argue because there was still that little voice in the back of his head that said that he should have honored his family first, cast Atobe aside so as not to embarrass their family in front of his grandfather’s colleagues, and played the part of the good, obedient son.

Atobe, who had never had any delusions about being a good or obedient son, nor had parents who had expected it of him, was equally silent, even though Tezuka knew that Atobe had vehement feelings on the matter.

Instead, Atobe dropped back into his seat beside Tezuka, fastened his seatbelt, and reached over almost cautiously to take Tezuka’s hand.

Tezuka squeezed back.

“Well, that’s enough for this year,” Atobe said airily. “Let’s not mention it again until at least after the French Open, hmm?”

Tezuka bit back a laugh, because Atobe really was ridiculous when he wanted to be, and looked over Atobe’s shoulder out the plane window as the tiny blocks below grew into houses and buildings and cars.

***

Tezuka and Atobe took a separate limo from their witnesses from the airport.

Well, technically, Tezuka and Atobe took one limo, but Atobe’s mother got waylaid by Atobe’s _father’s_ wealth manager as she’d been about to get into hers, with some kind of legal paperwork cutting the funding to half her projects. So she’d stormed into the limo with him, while Mira followed Tezuka and Atobe in a taxicab she hailed instead, leaving the second limo to trail after Atobe’s mother forlornly until she finally dealt with her husband’s latest parry and took it to meet them at the registry office.

Nearly everything the Atobes did was weird and overly-complicated like this, and Tezuka had long ago given up trying to figure any of it out. Atobe claimed it was how his parents flirted with each other, which Tezuka had thought was even _weirder_ until Atobe pointed out that their first ‘date’ had been a junior-high tennis match in which Atobe had tried to permanently destroy Tezuka’s tennis career and Tezuka had actually helped him along out of sheer pigheadedness.

After that, it had all made a twisted kind of sense to Tezuka, which disturbed him even more.

They checked in at the hotel, with Mira a menacing shadow on their heels the whole way. All Tezuka’s belongings were promptly stolen from him at this point because apparently he wasn’t allowed to carry anything while acting as part of the Atobe entourage. He felt confident everything would be in their suite when they got back, though, and properly unpacked too, which Tezuka had always found vaguely creepy.

One of the best things about their condo back in Munich was that there weren’t any servants underfoot moving things around while Tezuka wasn’t looking, like overpaid ghosts.

From there, they went straight to the registry office because, as Mira ominously informed them, there was ‘paperwork’. When Mira said, ‘I just need you to sign something,’ it usually consisted at least an hour-long session with contracts and a full team of lawyers. Tezuka dreaded to think what she would call outright ‘paperwork’.

Two hours later, all the prenups were signed, in triplicate, and sent off for filing by one of Mira’s seemingly endless assistants who materialized out of the woodwork, no matter where on earth they were. The official at the registry office, who had been abducted as an extra witness for the legal forms while Atobe’s mother cruised around town, had been looking at Mira with something like fawning adoration after she’d pulled out all the proper paperwork that made her an authorized notary of the _sixth_ country they were filing in, and gave everything her official stamp. Bureaucratic lust was something Tezuka could never understand.

After that, they really had nothing to do but wait around. Tezuka had a moment of panic because his passport had been in one of the bags Atobe’s mother’s servants had stolen from him, but of course Mira had pillaged their luggage for all necessary items and brought them along in a neat, black briefcase.

“Your family is so weird,” Tezuka said unnecessarily as they sat and waited for Atobe’s mother, while Mira helped her new puppy-dog reorganize his filing system. Three other couples had come, gotten married, and gone already, while they’d been waiting.

Atobe made a gurgling sound of agreement. “Tell me something not boring,” he requested.

Tezuka blinked at him.

“Okay, fine, something that puts you less on-the-spot,” Atobe conceded. “Tell me more about your strange five-factor theory. We were interrupted before you could finish.”

“It’s not _my_ theory,” Tezuka insisted. “I told you: It’s just something I read on the internet.”

“Well, we passed the first two gauntlets. On to the third!”

Tezuka smirked and sipped at the cup of actually quite-excellent coffee they’d gotten from the café across the street. “The third factor for long-term compatibility is tolerance for annoying personal habits.”

Atobe started laughing, which had been Tezuka’s reaction too, because while the other ones were all stretches (at least Tezuka thought), this one was all too painfully accurate.

“I doubt we would even have looked twice at each other if we both couldn’t tolerate quite a lot of annoying personal habits,” Atobe said.

“Agreed. The website actually recommended that all couples should live together for at least a year, to make sure there were no deal-breakers in this area.”

Atobe sipped his own coffee and glanced at the door, looking for his mother to finally arrive, no doubt. “Go on. What’s my most annoying personal habit?”

“What’s mine first?” Tezuka demanded.

Atobe scrunched up his nose in thought for a second and then snapped his fingers. “Your complete inability to answer a simple, straightforward question without beating around the bush for twenty minutes of mind-games first.”

“How is that a habit of _mine_?” Tezuka retorted dryly.

“I answered your question,” Atobe smirked at him, with a hint of teeth, which meant he was quite enjoying himself at the moment. “You have yet to answer mine.”

“Fine. Your worst habit is…”

“Singing in the shower?” Atobe guessed. “Smothering you in the middle of the night? Saying embarrassing things about you to the press?”

“…Your money,” Tezuka concluded.

Atobe looked at him, confused. “How is my money an annoying habit?” he finally asked.

“It’s always there, creeping into the corners of our lives, making you throw up façades at the oddest times, creating this distance…”

Atobe was looking at him, wide-eyed as if mesmerized by what Tezuka was saying.

“The person you are when you’re acting rich is not the person you really are. A mask of yours, yes, but not the man I love. I miss you when you wear that mask for too long.”

“Tezuka…” Atobe said breathlessly and leaned in.

Tezuka had the absolutely asinine thought ‘not in public’ even though they were in the middle of Amsterdam where no one gave a flying fuck and even though Tezuka and Atobe were there to actually _physically get married_. Old habits died hard.

He met Atobe’s kiss a second later, cupping the nape of Atobe’s neck to pull him in to a firmer, better angle, and letting his tongue tangle intimately with Atobe’s in a playful game of cat-and-mouse.

They were interrupted, of course, by Atobe’s mother letting out a wolf-whistle.

Atobe pulled away from Tezuka to glare at her.

“You two had _better_ get married after that. And here I was starting to worry you were celibate…”

Tezuka gaped at her, and Atobe blushed, because who in their right mind could possibly think _that_ , but then Tezuka realized that technically, no, they’d never kissed where _anyone_ could see them before. There was a fluttering in his stomach at the thought; he and Atobe didn’t have a lot of firsts left, so it was worth savoring this rare one they’d accidentally uncovered.

“Let’s go,” Atobe’s mother said, reaching over to tidy Atobe’s hair and then aborting a hopeless gesture to try to do the same to Tezuka. “My flight leaves in 45 minutes.”

Actually getting married was trivial after everything else they’d done up until that point.

Atobe signed, and then Tezuka signed, and then Atobe’s mother and Mira signed as witnesses, and then the official signed and stamped everything, and then Mira immediately began asking for 10 original hardcopies of every single paper in the entire office that bore either Atobe’s or Tezuka’s name, and an additional 15 copies of everything with both their names together.

Atobe looked almost shy when he pulled a ring out of his pocket – a thick gold band with a line of platinum running down the center with five channel-set diamonds. “Put it on me?”

Tezuka’s hand shook as he took the ring from Atobe’s hand and slid it on the appropriate finger. It was actually a rather elegant thing, tasteful and surprisingly understated for Atobe. Tezuka stared at it for a long time, and then remembered, “I have one, too.”

He reached for his pocket, but that had been stolen from him too. Mira helpfully held out one hand, palm up, amidst demanding that even _more_ papers be placed upon the growing altar before her, and Tezuka took his ring from her before things could get any weirder.

He handed it to Atobe, who studied it for longer than was necessary, because it was just a plain platinum band, with no notable features to speak of. Finally, Atobe smiled to himself softly, with satisfaction, like he’d finally found something that met with his approval, and he slid the ring onto Tezuka’s finger.

“It’s been the longest game of my life,” Atobe said, his hand holding Tezuka’s still, “but you’re _mine_ now, forever.”

Tezuka let out a shaky breath. “And you’re mine.” And then, as dryly as he could manage: “Good game.”

Which, of course, set them both off snickering.

***

They ended up wandering the streets of Amsterdam largely at random for most of the afternoon, after Atobe’s mother had run off with Mira to Antwerp and Atobe had dismissed their driver.

Atobe seemed mostly directionless, caught up in his own thoughts, so Tezuka picked their path, winding through the city streets for a while, finding one park that was too crowded, and then wandering the streets some more before finding another less-touristy park that was quieter. Somewhere along the way, Atobe’s right hand reached over to curl around Tezuka’s left, and Atobe’s thumb rubbed over the band on Tezuka’s ring finger from time to time, but he still didn’t speak, studying the pavement before his feet.

Tezuka thought he could follow the trail of Atobe’s meanderings to some degree, even though his insight into Atobe’s psyche was much less than Atobe’s into his. However, Atobe had always insisted that his trick was to just assume, whenever in doubt, that Tezuka was thinking the same thing he was thinking, and his guesses generally proved frighteningly accurate.

Tezuka himself felt mildly stunned at the moment. The two of them had been living and training together for years now, so nothing was really _different_ , but nonetheless Tezuka couldn’t help but feel that there had been a subtle shift, like Atobe was closer now. He didn’t consider himself (or Atobe) particularly sentimental, and he knew the effect had to be entirely psychological, but it still _felt_ real, and for that Tezuka was starting to get a bit giddy, like his heart was about to flutter up out of his chest, lighter than air. It really was the most peculiar feeling.

Tezuka eventually pulled Atobe into a small café, because they hadn’t eaten anything since they’d left home early that morning. They bought sandwiches and, even though the afternoon was chilly, took them out into a park to eat on a bench Tezuka found concealed in a nook.

As they ate companionably, Atobe finally began to snap out of his ruminations.

“The fourth factor,” Tezuka broke the long silence, catching Atobe’s attention, “is similar life-philosophies, morals, and ethics.”

Atobe took a sip of his water to consider that for a moment. “My life-philosophy is to devote everything I am to becoming the best in the world. I’m not really sure about my morals and ethics, beyond that I don’t particularly want to be dick, unless it’s exceptionally funny, and then I sometimes can’t help myself. You?”

Tezuka tried to bite the inside of his cheek but ended up smiling anyway. “You do have a way with words,” he finally conceded. “Ditto.”

“Good, then,” Atobe said.

“Right.”

They finished their sandwiches quietly.

“Want to go back to our hotel suite?” Atobe gave Tezuka a lascivious look.

“Absolutely.”

***

Their ‘hotel suite’ wasn’t so much a hotel suite as the honeymoon suite. Upon reflection, Tezuka really couldn’t believe that he hadn’t seen that coming.

Someone (there had been enough Atobes in Tezuka’s vicinity today that it became hard to tell who, exactly, was pulling which strings) had ordered a bottle of no-doubt-exorbitantly-expensive champagne, chilled, with an assortment of fresh strawberries and dark chocolates. The chocolates were clearly for Atobe who devoured two greedily, while Tezuka nibbled on his strawberry amidst sipping his champagne. It was only 4:25 in the afternoon, but – what the hell – it was their wedding day.

Atobe set his champagne flute down on the nightstand beside their truly ridiculous bed, cast aside a half-dozen or so completely superfluous pillows, and then approached Tezuka where he was sitting in one of the armchairs beside their celebratory platter, one hand extended. “Come to bed with me?”

Tezuka downed the rest of his champagne in one gulp and took Atobe’s hand. “Be gentle with me?” he teased.

Atobe rolled his eyes in response and shoved Tezuka back onto the mattress, before falling atop him. The bed was bouncier than the one they had at home, and Tezuka tried not to laugh at Atobe too much when he nearly lost his balance.

“Honestly, I don’t know why I put up with you,” Atobe let out a long-suffering sigh and then leaned in to kiss Tezuka, deeply.

Amid long, ardent, wet kisses, they peeled each other’s clothes off, a task they’d become quite adept at over the years. When they were done, Atobe guided Tezuka’s hands back up over his head onto the headboard, said, “Hold on tight,” and then started kissing Tezuka’s body, which was entirely unfair.

By the time Tezuka regained any sense of time or space again, Atobe had finagled a knee between Tezuka’s thighs, probably when Tezuka was distracted by the things Atobe’s mouth was doing to his nipples; he’d never quite mastered the art of having any kind of intelligent thought whatsoever when Atobe did that.

Atobe reached out carefully remove Tezuka’s glasses before folding them neatly on the nightstand. “I think it only fair to warn you,” Atobe said, when his hand returned to cup Tezuka’s cheek, “that I intend to make love to you until you scream my name and can’t even remember your own.”

“I accept your challenge,” Tezuka agreed, which caused Atobe to kiss him again, harder his time, and nudge Tezuka’s legs apart.

Tezuka opened for him and let out a little gasp when Atobe’s slicked fingers entered his body. Atobe worked him loose methodically, attentive as always to Tezuka’s moods, catching Tezuka’s pleasure with languid kisses. The entire time, Atobe didn’t so much as touch Tezuka’s erection, although his eyes did flick down from time to time to assess the state of Tezuka’s arousal.

Finally, Tezuka couldn’t take it anymore. “Get on with it already,” he growled, causing Atobe’s hand to pull out of him and then return to where Tezuka wanted it.

Atobe’s fingers stroked lazily along Tezuka’s length, considering, and then he lined himself up with Tezuka’s opening while squeezing around the base tight. “Prepare yourself.”

Tezuka was debating saying something snide, because Atobe knew full-well that Tezuka didn’t need this much preparation, but then Atobe glided home in one smooth, clean stroke, and Tezuka’s frustration faded to nothing. Instinctively, he wrapped his legs around Atobe’s waist, pulling him in deeper, so that he was… “Right there,” Tezuka said a little breathlessly when Atobe brushed his pleasure center.

Atobe groaned, leaning in so that their bodies were pressed together and his lips just brushed Tezuka’s throat. “Have I mentioned lately that you have very long legs?” he purred against Tezuka’s pulse point, and Tezuka’s legs tightened around his waist in response. “It’s like you were made for this, for me…”

The hand around Tezuka’s erection twisted gently, and Tezuka could _feel_ the metal of Atobe’s wedding band stroking up and down his flesh. “Were you going to, ah, move,” Tezuka barely got out as Atobe toyed around the base of his erection further, causing the tip to nudge against Atobe’s stomach, “or we you just planning on teasing me all night?”

Atobe pulled back enough to smile down at Tezuka almost sweetly, releasing Tezuka so that his hands were now propping him up on either side of Tezuka’s head. “Anything my husband wishes,” he agreed, and _moved_.

Tezuka hands tightened on the headboard at the sensation of Atobe stroking his inner walls intimately, lovingly, but even more so at that _word_. It seemed inconceivable now that either of them had waited so long to use the word ‘husband’ and, once uttered, Tezuka wanted nothing more than to hear it spoken between them again, a thousand times.

Atobe’s hips rocked into him repeatedly, lingering but inevitable, drawing out Tezuka’s pleasure inch by inch, until Tezuka was writhing in ecstasy, straining to get Atobe to strike him just there, at just the right strength, at just the right speed, just _right_.

Tezuka’s orgasm took him by surprise if only because it had been so long building that the exact moment that set him over the edge was completely unpredictable.

Atobe tensed over him, holding himself still above Tezuka as he rode out Tezuka’s euphoria, waiting for Tezuka to come down again and gradually fall limp against the mattress.

Tezuka looked up at Atobe, dazed for a minute, and then realized that Atobe hadn’t come yet.

“Was that good for you?” Atobe whispered raggedly against Tezuka’s ear, the strain at holding himself back evident in his voice.

In answer, Tezuka’s arms finally left the headboard to slide around Atobe’s body and pull him in closer.

“Ready?” Atobe asked rhetorically.

Tezuka’s spent cock, miraculously, twitched with interest.

That was all the warning Tezuka got before Atobe started moving again, this time pounding hard and deep, in sharp contrast to the way he’d be careful and methodical of Tezuka’s pleasure before.

The grunts that escaped Atobe’s throat mingled with the grunts that each of Atobe’s thrusts forced from Tezuka’s lips, until Tezuka couldn’t handle even that much separation anymore and turned Atobe’s face toward him so that their mouths met in a frantic joining that couldn’t quite be termed a kiss, because it was far too wild and uncoordinated for that.

Atobe lost his purchase on the mattress then, and his right arm buckled, causing him to collapse atop Tezuka’s body. He pulled himself back up almost immediately, an apology on his lips, but watching Atobe _lose control_ like that had already taken its toll, and Tezuka was hard again, bucking up against him.

Atobe met Tezuka’s eyes for one moment, wide-eyed, and then he ducked his head and thrusted hard and fast, so that the headboard shook against the wall, the collisions of their sweat-slicked bodies sounding throughout the hotel suite.

Finally, Atobe reached his limit, and Tezuka’s watched Atobe’s eyes lose focus, darken, and then glaze over as his pleasure shook through his body. Atobe spent himself once, thick and sticky, inside Tezuka’s body and then, after a moment’s pause, released again in a second, shorter jerk.

Tezuka’s hands stroked Atobe’s back, encouraging him to give Tezuka his full weight so that Tezuka could grind his own aching erection against Atobe’s spent, collapsed body. It took only a few strokes against the sharp jut of Atobe’s hipbone, and Tezuka came a second time, the world whiting out with dazzling stars.

Tezuka finally stirred, some time later, to find Atobe still draped over him, although he’d now slid out of Tezuka’s body.

“Fuck,” Atobe mumbled into Tezuka’s hair, “stop doing that to me. We’re not 14 anymore.”

Tezuka managed a wry chuckle. “We’re still too young for you to be complaining like an old man.” He kissed Atobe’s sweat-slicked shoulder since that was the only part of Atobe he could reach and began sucking slowly on the flesh there.

Atobe groaned raggedly and, with a heave, managed to roll himself off Tezuka and flat onto his back on the mattress, panting.

Tezuka turned his head on the pillow so that he could look at Atobe. “It does make me worry, though,” he commented thoughtfully.

“Hmm?” Atobe said dreamily.

“We may be thoroughly matched on the first four factors of long-term compatibility, but I’m concerned that we may be ill-suited on the fifth.”

Atobe inhaled several deep, calming breaths and took the bait: “What’s the fifth?”

“Energy levels,” Tezuka answered dryly. “After all, I have yet to scream your name or forget mine, like you promised. If you’re already tired out on our wedding night and it’s not even dark yet—”

Atobe turned to glare at him, _growled_ , and pounced.

Tezuka was eventually forced to conclude that, no, it turned out that they were well-matched in their energy levels, as well. All things considered, it looked to be an auspicious marriage.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The five factors literally did come off the internet. Some random guy in a news-forum comment section was ranting about them. I have, alas, lost the link. I found it only fitting to use his tirade for gay porn. :)
> 
> I've always been convinced that Atobe's parents would be way more tolerant than Tezuka's, if only because they've been all over, and _something_ must be driving Tezuka out of that house so much. (Does he ever even bother to call his parents? As far as I can tell, he only talks to other tennis players, ever. LOL) Tezuka's dad seems more laid-back, whereas Tezuka's mom seems super conventional, so my head-canon is she's the least tolerant, even though I acknowledge that this is totally my crazy brain's interpretation.


End file.
